


Not About Angels

by angelicpie



Category: Carry On - Rainbow Rowell, Fangirl - Rainbow Rowell, Simon Snow series - Gemma T. Leslie
Genre: AU, Angst, Baz also talks to Simon a lot, Baz gets angry a lot, Fluff, Love, Love Confessions, M/M, Romance, half the story is told in flashbacks, heart wrenching feels, like really ow
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-19
Updated: 2016-01-19
Packaged: 2018-05-07 13:01:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 8
Words: 11,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5457383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angelicpie/pseuds/angelicpie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the death of the love of his life, Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch is trying desperately to cope and find a way to move on. But forgetting the brilliant, dashing, handsome Simon Snow is nearly impossible. As Baz struggles to find a new life without Simon, he can't help but be haunted by memories of their past relationship. With the help of his and Simon's close friend Penelope, Baz hopes to let go of the past and make a fresh start, without Simon, but never forgetting.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Alright! So my friend and I wrote this as a method of torturing one of our friends with feels. As the tags mention, half of the fic is told by a series of flashbacks.

_ June 2015 _

The casket lay open at the front of the room, his beautiful body laid lifeless inside. Baz tried to convince himself that Simon was only asleep as he stared at his pale face, deep blue eyes closed and hands clasped. The same warm hands he'd held only months ago, the same blue eyes that crinkled at the corners when he laughed. Tears blurred the edges of his vision and fell down his cheeks but he refused to wipe them away. It didn't matter who saw him cry now, the pain was written all over his face so plainly that anyone could see. Life without him seemed like looking out a dark window, warped and hard to make out. Like you know what should be there but it isn't. Baz wondered how he'd been able to live without him before, tried to remember how, but there wasn't anything that mattered before Simon. Nothing of any meaning. Nothing before meeting him.

_November 2012_

It was a brisk autumn morning, with clouds that hung overhead casting shadows on strangers' faces. The coffee shop was warm and inviting, alight with a warm glow and the scent of pastries hung in the air. Baz inhaled deeply after stepping in the door. Business people scurried around with cups of steaming liquid, grabbing cream and stirrers from nearby tables before heading out the door again. Baz had only wandered from his flat to grab something with any caffeine content and to retreat back home to finish writing. Thinking back, he had never been more grateful to  run out of coffee grounds. 

He stepped in line behind a tall girl with a mess of curly, brunette hair who was rattling off her extremely high maintenance order to the barista behind the counter.

"I'd like a fat free, decaf, no foam..." 

Baz sighed. This was not going to be the relaxing and quick trip he'd expected. 

"Okay... Mmmhmm... Wait, what was that?"

Baz looked up from the floor to see the most stunning sight his eyes had ever beheld. He stared at the mop of curly blonde hair falling into his mesmerizing blue eyes and freckled cheeks. His smile was adorably crooked and his eyes squinted at the edges when he grinned. He continued to fill the girl's order, trying desperately to keep up with her fast paced speech and rude attitude when he asked her to slow down a bit. But, to Baz's astonishment, he never grew angry and his smile never wavered as she continued to ramble. Baz watched as he finished writing her order and ushered her down to the next employee. Baz rubbed his hands together as he shyly stepped forwards to the counter.

The barista fumbled with a few things before looking up to a very flustered, red cheeked Baz. "Morning!" he said enthusiastically. "Quite a dreary morning isn't it? Took me nearly an hour to dry off; I don't own an umbrella."

Baz blinked at him, too distracted by the barista's dazzling white smile to form a reply. God, why did he have to get the dreamy barista? It would've been much simpler to have gotten the frizzy, red-headed girl who's mouth seemed to be set in a permanent frown. She was currently dealing with no customers and seemed incredibly bored. And yet, here Baz was, standing in front of the most gorgeous man he'd ever seen, acting like a blithering idiot.

"Anyway," the barista continued, seemingly not aware of Baz's moment of personal crisis. "What can I get for you?"

"Coffee, black please," he managed to reply. The barista's smile, amazingly, brightened.

"Sure thing, and your name?"

"B-b-baz." He stuttered. He coughed into his palm awkwardly and shuffled a bit. 

The barista grinned and stared at Baz with his dreamy eyes. "I like that." He smirked. "Baz." Baz stared as his mouth formed his name, the way he smiled while saying it made his heart skip a beat and he diverted his eyes away from the barista's lips. 

He coughed. "Thanks," he mumbled.

He smiled again from behind the counter, the barista ran his eyes over Baz's face and Baz felt himself blush. Baz noticed him scrawling on the cup for an unusual amount of time and tried to discretely peek at what he may be writing. He quickly backed away as the barista finished and slid the cup down the counter to the next employee who started filling it with his drink. He looked back to see the barista staring shamelessly at him.

"They'll take you down there." He nodded to the end of the counter.

Baz nodded in reply and shuffled down the line. He looked back at the beginning of the line to the barista who was helping another customer. He wished he could approach him again, strike conversation, but his feet felt cemented to the floor. Disappointment filled his stomach along with embarrassment and butterflies of the extreme extent. The cashier broke his stare, pulling him back to reality. "That'll be $1.20." Baz grunted in response and pulled the money the from his pocket and laid it on the counter. 

"Thanks," he mumbled. 

He grabbed his cup and left the shop, longing to see the curly haired barista again. Baz looked down at his cup and noticed an abundance of sloppily written numbers beside his name that was beautifully jotted in swooping letters.  _Oh God_ , Baz thought,  _oh God._

The rest of the day consisted of Baz anxiously wondering if he should actually message the number. What if it was a cruel joke? Baz brushed off his fears and withdrew his phone. What even was he supposed to say? 

**Hello, I noticed this number was conveniently left on my coffee cup. Just wondering, this is the dashing barista from Starbucks, yes?**

Baz's heart beat firmly against his rib cage after he finally pressed send. It was only a few minutes later when his phone buzzed in his hand with a reply.

**only if this is the dashing customer named baz**

Baz smiled despite the man's atrocious lack of capitalization.

**That would be me...**

**then i guess i am said dashing barista :)**

Baz couldn't help but laugh at the smiley face.

**Good, for a while I was scared it was a joke to be honest.**

Baz's fingers hovered over the keyboard before typing out a second message.

**I don't think I ever caught your name, by the way.**

**it's simon snow**

_ June 2015 _

Baz thought the sun was insulting.

How could it shine so brightly on such a tragic day? How did it dare shine the same golden as Simon once had? How could the sky  _dare_  to be the same brilliant blue Simon's eyes once were?

It made Baz sick, shining so bright in contrast to the black clad people hovering around a freshly dug grave. Most people were focused on the priest as he prayed over Simon's casket before it was lowered into the ground, but his words fell on Baz's deaf ears. As the priest finished, Baz stepped forward, mumbling a few 'excuse mes' as he pushed passed a few people. Approaching the casket, he felt lost for words as he placed a small box onto the casket's lid; it was a proposal ring, one Baz had little use for now.

He found it hard to keep his composure as the casket was lowered into the ground; this was the final goodbye. No more golden curls; no more ocean blue eyes; no more Simon. Nothing left but a bland headstone and a permanent feeling of despair in the pit of Baz's stomach. People around him were sobbing messes, and Baz felt his own tears rolling down his face.

The casket was buried and it was all over. People leaving offered a few condolences to Baz as they passed, but he never teared his gaze away from Simon's grave. He couldn't bring himself to say goodbye for good, it meant letting go; something Baz was never good at. 

"Baz," a soft voice said, breaking him from his stupor.

He lifted his gaze from the ground, meeting the tear-stained, bleary eyes of Penelope Bunce. 

Baz quickly closed the distance between himself and Penelope and wrapped his arms around her in a tight hug. "It's so fucking hard," he sobbed into her shoulder.

"I know," Penelope replied softly, stroking Baz's hair in a comforting manner. "I know."   


	2. Chapter 2

_June 2015_

Baz half expected to find Simon dozing on the couch when he returned to their apartment after the funeral. The sight of the empty couch, and empty apartment in general, made Baz feel even more alone than he had earlier. Emptiness filled him completely. There was no remorse, no anger, no  emotion that could replace the hollow absence Simon Snow had left in the wake of his death. He had been one of those people who could fill room with his personality, and now there was nothing but the overwhelming emptiness. 

Baz didn't know how much more of the emptiness he could take. The apartment was silent and cold without the music of Simon's laughter.

Now the world around him just felt hollow.  Baz sunk to his knees, hot tears running down his face and feeling as though the silence Simon left behind was pressing onto his shoulders, drawing him down so he could join Simon beneath the earth.

 

_December 2012_

Simon tossed his head back, a fit of bubbly laughter slipping passed his lips. "I can't believe you brought me back to work for our first date!"

Baz pursed his lips, not finding the heart to tell him he hadn't intended on the invitation for coffee being interpreted as a date. "Well I'm not exactly a shining example of Romeo, Snow," he replied flatly before taking a sip of hot coffee.

"Why do you do that?"

"Do what?" Baz asked, furrowing his eyebrows.

"Call me Snow," Simon said matter-of-factly.

Baz let out a soft sigh and set his coffee aside. "Because, it's more interesting than just 'Simon'." 

"My name isn't 'just Simon'," he paused, lips curling into a wry smile. "It's Simon. Jeez Baz, we've known each other for at least a month now."

It was Baz's turn to laugh. He loved how Simon could turn anything into a joke.

"Anyway, Baz, I remember you mentioning once or twice you're writing a book; how's it coming along?"

Baz could feel himself melting under Simon's intense, blue gaze. "It's coming along well enough I suppose," he managed to say. "I've hit a bit of a writer's block though. I'm sure a short break from writing will be the remedy I need. Perhaps I should find the time to visit the art gallery."

Simon lifted an eyebrow. "Do you enjoy looking at art?"

He shook his head lightly. "Not particularly, I enjoy the inspiration art gives me, not the art itself."

"Wanna go now?" Simon blurted, cheeks flaming red.

"You mean you don't want to stay here after a five hour shift?" Baz joked.

Simon laughed nervously. "I think I've had my fill of this place for today."

Baz chuckled in return, gazing at Simon. Upon realizing this, he tore his eyes from Simon's face and cleared his throat saying," Well, then, I guess we best be off." Simon smirked as they both left the warmth of the shop to the biter chill of the winter air. Baz wrapped his scarf tighter around his neck as Simon sped up to walk beside him.

"Trying to ditch your date already?" Simon chuckled.

Baz rolled his eyes. "A catch like you? Of course not."

"I feel flattered despite the fact I'm sure you're only being sarcastic." Simon glanced at Baz, who laughed in response.

"Not completely."

The two walked in silence before Simon made an offhanded comment about his hands being cold. Baz slipped his gloved hand into Simon's bare one, lacing their fingers together without so much as a glance at the blond. "Better?"

"Better," a flustered Simon replied.

They walked hand in hand in blissful silence until they reached the art gallery with whi`ch Baz was familiar. As they entered, they could smell the scent of the paint even now. Since Baz was accustomed to the area, he led Simon from piece to piece, fingers still intertwined. He explained each one in detail. The artist's muse and inspiration;` how they inspired him. 

"You talk of the paintings as if they were people," Simon observed.

"No," Baz replied," If they were people they would tell you themselves. I am simply explaining what each artist felt when the brush was in his hand since they cannot for themselves."

"You do it quite well,"  Simon said, looking up at Baz, blue eyes twinkling.

He felt the heat rise to his cheeks and looked away shyly to the painting they had been discussing.

They continued down hall after hall lined with various pieces as Baz explained each one with equal enthusiasm and vigor and Simon listened with equal intent and admiration, loving the sound of Baz's voice echoing off the marble walls. It was calming to listen to Baz gush about the obscure meaning behind every painting and how it opened up a door to the artists' true feelings. Simon decided that Baz must be excellent at reading people from the way he could pull so much knowledge from paint.

"This one's my favorite," Baz said when they stopped in front of a rather large painting sporting a realistic scene of snowy mountains. "It's the only one that I haven't quite deciphered yet."

"Maybe the artist just painted it because they fancy landscapes?" Simon suggested, earning a reproachful look from Baz.

"The point of art isn't to be aesthetically pleasing," Baz said shortly. "It's supposed to make you _feel_ something and tell a story the artist couldn't tell with words, as I stated earlier."

"You may not have cracked the artist's code, but what does it make  _you_ feel, Baz?"

 

_June 2015_

"IT MAKES ME FEEL LIKE SHIT, SIMON!" Baz screamed, having enough of the silence. " IT PISSES ME OFF, IT MAKES ME BITTER, AND-"

Baz grabbed the thing nearest to him, which happened to be an old novel, and chucked it across the room, satisfied by the loud crash that followed suit. "AND IT HURTS!" he finished, huffing loudly. "It hurts..." Baz sighed, defeated. If the prior emptiness was a hole, it was now filled to the brim with an unsettling mixture of blind rage and hurt. Everything hurt, and everything pissed him off. He was pissed at himself for acting so irrationally; pissed at Penelope for leaving him after trying to offer him comfort; pissed at Simon for dying on him. It wasn't supposed to happen like this.

"I hate you, Simon," he murmured, but of course he didn't mean it. How could he hate him when he was the best thing that ever happened to Baz?

He rose to his feet and shuffled to retrieve the thrown book from where it lie in a pool of shattered glass after breaking a vase. Baz's eyes flickered over the title and he realized it was a favorite of Simon's. Rage welled inside him as he threw the book again, unable to keep his anger at bay. Everything in this damn apartment reminded him of Simon, and for a fleeting moment, he considered burning it down.

Baz stormed into their bedroom and in one swift motion swiped everything off the dresser with a loud crash. Most of the things were Simon's, who had a bad habit of throwing things where they didn't belong, and now lie on the floor in a disheveled pile. None of the things mattered, but it wasn't like Baz could stand to look at them anyway. Simon's things lay all around the apartment, surrounding him, making him feel claustrophobic. It was all too overwhelming, baring down on him too heavily as he crumbled under the weight. 

"I miss you so much," he sobbed," I miss you too much." 

He felt as though he was suffocating, each breath harder to take than the last. He didn't know how to hold on without Simon, reality didn't make sense. Nothing mattered or had any substance without his precious Simon there to hold him. And just as he felt as though he would completely buckle, in ran Penelope. 

She fell to the floor beside Baz, stroking his back and telling him to breathe in and out, over and over again. Baz couldn't speak through the tears, or else he would have told Penelope to leave him alone. But deep down he knew that having her here was far better than not, because he could not bare to be alone any longer. It was all he had now. The sickening loneliness and the hole in his heart that would never be filled.

If someone was willing to share that, who was he to refuse?

 

 

 

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

_ June 2015 _

"You're okay, Baz," Penelope murmured.

"No I'm not," he argued weakly. "I'm a bloody mess and empty and Simon's gone."

"Micah's flying over, he'll be getting here sometime tomorrow," she blurted.

"Why?" Baz had only met Micah once or twice, and he was an easy enough guy to get along with, but he couldn't help but feel a pang of anger. He wasn't close to Simon, so Baz felt like he had no right to visit during such a time.

"Because, you and I are both incredibly sad people and I need someone to help me take care of you."

"I can take care of myself, Bunce," Baz sneered. Penelope only replied by giving him a sad look.

Baz looked away, feeling only slightly ashamed of himself. Yes, Penelope was only trying to help, but who was she to push herself into his life when he was grieving? And not just her, but her boyfriend too? All Baz wanted was to be left alone. Well, not alone. He wanted to be alone with Simon. But that wasn't an option anymore. And he knew that he'd surely go mad in this apartment alone. Plus. Penelope wasn't going anywhere, no matter if she was living here or not. So Baz might as well fill the silence with something.

"I suppose that will be fine. If I am the blithering mess you make me out to be, might as well have someone here who can prepare breakfast," Baz consented.

Penelope grinned slightly. "That makes perfectly logical sense. No better thing for a blithering mess than eggs and toast."

Baz tried to laugh but even he knew that he failed miserably. Penelope patted his arm reassuringly. He felt his eyes begin to water again. She pulled him into a hug, saying," Company will be good for us both. I hope that you realize, I loved him too. Not like you did, but I cared for him-"

"Cared? Loved?" Baz snapped. "As in you don't anymore?"

He stood. "Baz." Penelope said, standing as well. "That isn't what I meant, Baz."

"You seem awfully quick to stop loving him. Just because he's dead doesn't mean you can't still love him," he sneered.

"Of course it doesn't, of course. That's not what I meant..." Tears welled in Penelope's eyes, starting to spill onto her cheeks. She sniffled. "Excuse me." She hurried to the bathroom and Baz heard the door lock.

He hadn't meant to upset her just as she hadn't meant to upset him. They were both just so heart broken. But he and Penelope had something in common that would not break. Simon.   
  


_ December 2012 _

Simon bounced nervously on the balls of his feet as one o'clock neared. He had persuaded Baz to finally grow a pair and meet Penelope, his fiercely overprotective best friend. Simon didn't blame Baz for his hesitance, the way he described Penelope made her seem like a mother bear, one with sharp claws at that.

The store's bell chimed and Simon lifted his eyes, gaze meeting Baz's as he strode into the coffee shop.

"Hey," Simon said, flashing a bright smile.

"She's not here yet, is she?" Baz asked cautiously.

"No," Simon replied as he slipped off his work apron; his shift had just ended minutes ago. "But I see her coming from across the street." He nodded his head to the large glass window at the store's front that provided a view of a rumpled looking Penelope walking briskly towards the coffee shop.

The two watched as she pushed through the door with a soft chime, face lighting up at the sight of Simon's smile. She sauntered over, pulling Simon into a quick hug.

"Hey, Penny!" Simon said enthusiastically. "This is Baz." He nodded his head towards Baz, a few bronze curls falling into his face.

Penelope turned her attention to Baz, lips forming a tight smile, and stuck her hand out for a cordial handshake. "It's nice to finally meet the guy Simon won't shut up about."

Baz resisted the urge to brush back the curls from Simon's head and instead shook Penelope's hand. "It's a pleasure to finally meet the best friend of my boyfriend," he replied casually.

Things got slightly bumpy after they took their seats at a secluded table in the back. Both Penelope and Baz possessed extremely strong, differing opinions. Also, not to mention the fact they were equally protective over Simon and seemed to have no qualms about blatantly threatening each other over this fact.

"It's not a threat, _Basil_ , it's a promise," Penelope said lowly.

"First of all, it's  _Baz,_  second, I can assure you I have no intention of breaking Simon's heart," Baz replied, sounding slightly irritated.

Simon, who had avoided weighing his opinion on the argument, sipped at his coffee, which had grown cold. He admitted it could've gone better, but in the end they really hit it off because, as it turns out, they had both gotten Ravenclaw on an internet Harry Potter sorting quiz.

"Don't you think Simon's a total Hufflepuff?" Penelope asked, wearing a playful smile.

"I do, in fact, I made him take the test and he was sorted into Hufflepuff," Baz drawled.

"I'm a total Gryffindor," Simon muttered, glowering at the two when they started laughing at him.

"If you say so, love," Baz said with a soft smile.

 

_June 2015_

Baz sat at his messy desk, littered with papers and empty coffee mugs, trying desperately to fill the blank space in front of him. Writing had always been his way to cope with emotional hardships, but inside, he knew it was no use. He had no more inspiration to write, only the deep sadness that filled his heart. And no one wanted to read anything so depressing and dismal as what he could write at the moment. Baz ran is hands through his hair in frustration, staring blankly at the screen in front of him. 

Down the hall, he heard Penelope and Micah in the kitchen preparing lunch. Before he had retreated to his solitude, they had both warned him not to upset himself. He had only replied with a grunt as he grabbed his fresh coffee and trudged down the hall. God, even coffee reminded him of Simon. 

Now, after about three hours of sitting in this dark room, fingers poised to type but mind uncooperative, he was still exactly were he started, only, yes, must more upset. Had Simon really had to take everything with him when he left? Must he leave him completely empty? He slammed the computer shut, holding back tears as he stood. 

He had to get out of this room, to at least speak to someone. He opened the door, squinting into the light of the hall. As he entered the kitchen, Micah and Penelope froze where they were at the sight of him, looking slightly terrified. Did he really look that dreadful? Baz raised one eyebrow at their shocked expressions and moved toward the sink with his dirty mug in hand. Penelope coughed, breaking a bit of the sudden silence.

"Any luck?' She smiled.

Baz didn't look up as he cleaned his cup. "None whatsoever." 

Silence fell over the room again. Micah continued stirring whatever was cooking on the stove, not saying anything. Not that Baz could blame him, he couldn't imagine being in his position. Though they weren't complete strangers, Baz had only met Micah a few times, and really hadn't payed him much attention. But, he really never  payed anyone much attention but Simon, before...

Baz put his cup away and turned to the couple.

"What are you two up to this afternoon?" 

The looked to each other with equal stares of confusion.

"We hadn't really given it much thought yet. But whatever it is, you're welcome to join us, Baz," Micah offered with a smile.

Baz only stared, not returning his good attitude. "Thank you for the offer, but I think I should be back to my work." He started down the hall again.

"Without anything to eat?" Penelope asked, concerned. 

Baz shook his head, continuing towards his dark office. He heard Penelope sigh.

"Baz, have you actually written anything?"

Baz stopped in his tracks, anger bubbling inside him. He spun on his heel, leering at Penelope. "What business is it of yours what I have or haven't written? I said I wish for no company, now leave me be." And with that he turned down the hall and into his room again.

Shutting the door he felt the dark silence envelope him. He couldn't explain why he had snapped when Penelope had only asked a simple question about his well being. He just couldn't bring himself to say that the reason why he hadn't written anything was that the world without Simon Snow lacked any reason to write anything beautiful again. The world without Simon would never have anything beautiful again. But Baz could not explain that, could not formulate the words to accurately express the weight of his absence. 

As he sat again at his dingy desk and opened his computer all he was greeted by was an empty screen. Baz felt the tears again, hot and angry. It just felt all too fitting. An empty page for an empty world that was now Baz's home. An empty page for an empty world without Simon Snow. 

 


	4. Chapter 4

_ July 2015 _

Today marked exactly one month without Simon. Penelope, not without tears, managed to pull herself back together in that month; however, not even close to the same person she had been before. Baz knew that when Simon died, he took a piece of them with him, successfully preventing them from ever being whole again. And it hurt. Baz found himself often regretting ever finding his way into Simon's life, as if he had been the sole reason for his death. Of course he wasn't, sometimes bad things happen to good people, but it was hard to not take the blame when you were forced to be so exposed to heartache.

The door to Baz's room cracked open, the light from the hall illuminating it with a yellow glow. Penelope leaned her head in, expression soft as her eyes met Baz's bloodshot ones.

"What do you want, Penelope?" he muttered, rolling over to face away from the door.

Penelope had to shove away the shock at hearing Baz use her first name. "It's three in the afternoon."

Baz checked the clock on his nightstand; sure enough, 3:00pm shone at him in angry red numbers. "Impeccable time telling skills, I'm quite impressed with you."

He heard her let out a long sigh before slipping into the room, closing the door behind her with a soft click. "You've been in bed all day, Baz."

Silence followed her words and Baz felt the urge to punch something. Did Penelope honestly forget what day it was? "Do you know what today is?" he asked darkly.

"It's been a month," Penelope replied sadly. Baz opened his mouth to speak, but Penelope wasn't finished. "A month since I lost my best friend."

"Well, its been a month since I lost the love of my life. So maybe we should both mourn in peace."

Penelope scowled and walked to the wall to flip the light switch. Light flooded the room and Baz let out a loud huff. "Your mourning isn't healthy Baz, it's like you're just a corpse going through the motions of life." Penelope pressed her lips into a tight line, briefly considering if she should stop and if Baz was even stable enough to hear the truth. "The day I lost Simon, I lost you too; like you died when he did."

Baz remained silent, mulling over Penelope's words and finding himself growing angry. How could she expect him to keep on as if his entire world hadn't been ripped away from him?

"And since Micah and I moved in, to help you out might I add, you haven't improved in the slightest. I don't know how to help you Baz. You're always either pissed at the world or so deep in your self-made hole of despair we can't even talk to you."

Baz knew she was right, and he felt selfish for indulging in his own sorrow instead of being there for Penelope. "It's been a hard month," he murmured.  
  


_ January 2013 _

"It's been such a good month," Simon said, smiling brightly.

He and Baz were seated at their usual booth at a local diner down the street from Simon's work. Simon swiped a few fries from Baz's plate and popped them into his mouth. Baz gazed fondly at Simon as he crunched his way through stolen fries, wondering how he had been so lucky to be the boyfriend of such an amazing man.

"I agree, happy anniversary, love." Baz returned Simon's smile and met his eyes, feeling his breath hitch in his throat; Simon Snow was so beautiful.

The corner of Simon's eyes crinkled with a wide smile. "You too, Baz."  
  


_ July 2015 _

Baz sat at his computer again, hands poised over the keyboard. Penelope had left and was now in the kitchen with Micah, talking about something in a low voice, so he decided to write. There had to be something worth writing about, and there was; Baz began to type.

_Simon Snow, Simon Snow, Simon Snow, Simon Snow, Simon Snow..._

And Baz typed until tears blurred his vision. He squeezed his eyes shut, drawing in shaky breath after shaky breath. Images of blonde curls and blue eyes flashed through Baz's mind and he let out a choked sob. Simon was the only thing in the world that mattered, and now he was gone, leaving a shattered Baz behind. It had been exactly a month since he started waking up alone, knowing that there would be no smiles; exactly a month since the world had collapsed in on itself, leaving broken hearts and a significant lack of Simon Snow.

It was painful being in love with someone who was dead. Everything Baz longed to tell Simon would only fall on deaf ears, lost and never heard. He ran a hand through his hair and stared at Simon's name written over and over again on the computer screen, wondering how the hell everything had gotten so bad. It wasn't fair.

Someone knocked on Baz's door softly, making him frown; he was in no mood for another chat. "What is it, Bunce?"

Whoever was outside his door shuffled their feet. "Um, it's actually me," Micah replied flatly. "Pens wanted to visit Simon." Baz scowled at the way Micah's voice softly tread over Simon's name. "She thought you might want to come with her."

Baz pursed his lips. Did he want to go? The answer was a plain no; he didn't want to. "Fine," he answered despite his internal protest.

Micah let out what sounded like a relieved sigh from the other side of the door. "I'll let Penelope know."  
  


_ January 2013 _

"Crowley, slow it down, Snow," Baz warned.

"I love scones," Simon said blatantly as he buttered up another cherry scone and stuffed it into his mouth.

"Really?" Baz replied, tone dripping in mock disbelief. "I couldn't tell."

Simon smiled at Baz around a mouthful of pastry. Baz wrinkled his nose in disgust, the appalling view of chewed scone between Simon's teeth successfully grossing him out. "I love your smile, but could you please close your mouth?"

Simon complied and swallowed the scone. "When I'm dead, my epitaph will read 'died from eating too many scones'."  
  


_ July 2015 _

Simon's gravestone was even more unremarkable than he imagined it to be. It was just a modest slab of grey with his name, birth date, and death date engraved onto it. Baz thought it mocked Simon's radiant existence by being so bland and underwhelming.

He dropped his gaze to his feet. "I don't understand why you wanted to come here, Bunce," Baz mumbled.

"I thought it would help," Penelope admitted softly. "Make it seem more real."

Baz clenched his jaw. He knew it was true, the whole month had been depressingly surreal. Almost like at any moment he'd wake up, Simon snoring next to him.

"It doesn't."

"I know."

A crow cawed somewhere in the distance, breaking the silence that had settled over the two. Baz looked over at Penelope, whose hands were clasped tightly together.

"I want to leave," he muttered, folding his arms tightly. The thought of Simon lying dead under their feet only made Baz feel worse.

"Let's go home," Penelope replied quietly.

She obviously didn't understand that Simon  _was_  Baz's home.

 


	5. Chapter 5

 

_ February 2013 _

Snow danced through the bitter air, blanketing all of London in pristine white. Simon had convinced Baz to come with him to Hyde Park for a walk; despite the cold, Baz accepted his invitation.

"There's a lot of me out here," Simon suddenly said, flashing a lopsided grin at Baz.

"What?" Baz asked, lifting an eyebrow.

" _Snow."_

"Holy Hell, Simon," Baz groaned. "That was possibly the worst pun I've ever heard."

Simon threw his head back and laughed, Baz smiling in spite of himself. He gazed at Simon, snow swirling between them and catching in Simon's bronze curls. The bright whiteness of the day seemed to make his eyes an even more brilliant shade of blue, and Baz's breath caught in his throat; he was undeniably in love with Simon Snow. The spark present in Baz since he met Simon had kindled into a roaring flame, and he fully understood how much he needed him.

Baz was close enough to count the freckles sprayed across Simon's cheeks; close enough to see every shade of blue in his eyes.

"I love you, Simon Snow," Baz breathed.

"I love you too."

And then they were kissing.

 

_ August 2015 _

"I think we need to move out," Penelope said pointedly, casting a wary look at Baz.

Baz's eyes snapped up from his plate to glare at Penelope. "Why?"

"Because everything in this apartment reminds you of him," she stated plainly before taking a sip of coffee from her mug.

"Everything in general reminds me of him!" he snapped, pushing back from the table.

Penelope let out a long a long sigh in response. "It was just a suggestion, Baz, Micah and I don't know what else we can do at this point," she replied exasperatedly. "We can't get you to leave, we can't get you to write again–"

"What the hell does it matter to you what I do?" Baz hissed, fists clenching.

"Because you're my friend, you idiot!" Penelope opened her mouth to say something else, but promptly closed it.

"Spit it out, Bunce!"

"Fine." Penelope was fuming. "You're insulting Simon by just moping around all the time. If he knew you–"

"He doesn't know anything because he's dead!" Baz screamed, shooting to his feet. "He's fucking dead, Penelope. Simon doesn't care what the hell I do or don't do because he's _dead_."

He swiped away the hot tears streaming down his cheeks and spun on his heel, briskly walking to his room and slamming the door behind him.

Baz slumped against the door. "Dammit, Simon. I can't do this anymore. I can't do this without you," he whispered, sliding to the floor. "I still expect to wake up with you beside me every morning and I still expect your awful puns..." Baz ran a shaky hand through his hair, he felt so lost. "Penelope wants to move, but I'm not ready to let go yet, as if staying here means you're coming back. I wasn't prepared to lose you, Simon. After all these months, I'm still not prepared for life without you."

 

_April 2013 _

"I feel like instead of laughing at me, the appropriate thing to do would be to help, Baz," Simon huffed before setting down a rather heavy box.

"Sorry Snow, but you're brilliant at moving things," Baz chortled. "Besides, you seem to be doing fine without me."

Boxes lie scattered around the empty apartment, almost all of them having been carried up three flights of stairs by Simon. It'd taken forever, but they'd found the perfect apartment in a cozy spot in London, located just down the street from a bakery (which was why Simon was particularly fond of it).

Simon wiped the sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand and glowered at Baz. "My arms hurt," he protested.

"Then take a break, Crowley, it's not rocket science. Come here." Baz patted the spot beside him on the couch, which the movers had luckily moved for them, and Simon flopped down.

Simon rested his head against Baz's shoulder, letting out a small content sigh. "It's perfect, isn't it Baz?"

"It is, I love the view," he replied before finding Simon's hand and lacing their fingers together.

"Not just the apartment, everything," Simon said softly and squeezed Baz's hand. "I love you."

Baz smiled brightly and turned his head to press a kiss into Simon's curls. "I love you too, Simon."

 

_ August 2015 _

Baz hadn't realized he fell asleep against the door until he heard his name being called from the other side.

"Baz?" It was Penelope.

Baz stifled a yawn and rose to his feet, stretching his stiff muscles before pulling the door open. "What is it, Bunce?"

Penelope's eyes were bloodshot and Baz realized that she had been crying. "I'm sorry," she mumbled, pulling Baz into a hug. "I'm sorry for trying to force you to move so quickly through the grieving process and for our stupid fight."

"It's all right," Baz said earnestly and pulled away from the hug. He managed to work a small smile onto his face. "I understand."

Penelope seemed to brighten a bit at Baz's words, but her eyes were still sad. "I still miss him, Baz."

"So do I."

 

_ November 2015 _

Baz drew his scarf tighter against the onslaught of bitter wind tugging passed him. He slid his phone from his pocket and sent Penelope a quick text.

**Hey, on my way back from the gallery. Would you or Micah like any coffee?**

Baz only had to wait a minute for a reply.

**When do we not want coffee, Basil? I want French vanilla and Micah wants cinnamon. Thanks xxx.**

His phone buzzed again.

**Any luck at the gallery?**

**None.**

Baz sighed as he pushed his way into the very Starbucks he had met Simon. His eyes flickered over the baristas, _almost_ expecting a mess of blonde curls and stardust freckles.

Baz slipped into the apartment, the three cups of coffee precariously balanced in one arm. He nudged the door shut behind him with his foot before wandering over to the table and setting the coffee down.

"Delivery!" Baz called, successfully drawing out a sleepy looking Penelope trailed by an equally tired Micah.

"Thanks, Baz," she paused, inhaling deeply through her nose. "Smells delicious."

Micah rubbed at his eyes and slumped into a chair, grabbing for his coffee. "Thanks. Did you find any inspiration to write?"

"No." Baz unwrapped his scarf and slid into the seat across from Micha. "I doubt I ever will."

Micah and Penelope exchanged sad looks. She had told him about Baz's lack of writing since Simon died. It used to be his job, his favorite hobby, and now he couldn't do it.

"I'm sure it'll come back to you," Penelope assured.

Baz grunted in response and picked up his coffee. "I'm going to sleep."

Micah and Penelope could only watch as he shoved away from the table and disappeared into his room, slamming the door behind him.


	6. Chapter 6

_ December 2013 _

"Honestly, it looks fine already," Baz stated matter-of-factly.

Simon shot a glare over his shoulder at Baz before hanging the ornament in his hand on the tree. "It's got to be more than 'fine', Baz!" He examined the tree closely. "This is our first Christmas living together and I want everything to be perfect."

Baz rolled his eyes incredulously. "You're such a dork, Snow."

"No, I'm a Christmas perfectionist– hand me the tree topper."

"The star or angel?" Baz asked dubiously.

"Definitely the angel."

Baz slid from the couch and rummaged through the crate of decorations for a few moments before pulling out the topper. He handed it to Simon before promptly returning to his spot on the couch. His eyes roamed the tree before shifting to Simon, and Baz was all too aware of the way the lights lit up his curls in a multicolored glow.

Simon fiddled with the topper for a moments until he was completely satisfied with its placement. He stepped off the stool and turned to face Baz, arching an eyebrow curiously at his expression.

"What's that look for?"

Baz's lips twisted into a wide smile. "Just thinking about how I could've put the topper on instead of forcing you to use a stool."

"You're not that tall," Simon countered.

"Neither are you, obviously."

Simon sank into the couch next to Baz and frowned at him, though his eyes betrayed his smile. "You're hilarious, Baz." Simon was grinning now. "I think you owe me a present now."

"It's Christmas Eve."

"And?"

Baz sighed. "You traditionally don't open presents until Christmas."

"Baz," he whined. "Please?"

"The holidays aren't supposed to be materialistic, Snow," Baz scolded. "I swear, sometimes you act like such a child." His tone was firm in contrast to his easy smile. "But I suppose I can give you one gift."

Baz's eyes slid from Simon's eyes to his lips and he leant forward slowly, sliding a hand into Simon's curls. "Merry Christmas," he whispered before sealing the distance between them with a soft kiss.

Baz could feel Simon smiling against his lips and he allowed his eyelids to flutter closed, getting lost in all that was Simon Snow.  
  


_ December 2015 _

Baz couldn't tear his gaze away from the mug of tea clasped tightly in his hands. It had grown cold and he had no intention of drinking it, but Baz felt too weighted to his chair to dump it out. All he could think about was his first Christmas with Simon, and now it was his first Christmas without him. Everything felt so wrong.

He ran a hand through his long tresses and shifted his gaze out the window; it had started to snow. White flakes swirled passed the window, obscuring the apartment's view of the buildings across the street. Baz felt a pang go through his heart and he had to look back at his tea. Even snow hurt him now, serving as a painful reminder of its namesake.

Baz abandoned his tea on the table and shuffled to the window, grey eyes gazing sadly out into the snowy city outside; Simon would've been ecstatic to find they were having a white Christmas.

"Merry Christmas, Baz," Micah said brightly as he strolled into the kitchen, unaware of the somber mood thick in the air.

"Morning," Baz mumbled in response. "Is Penelope still asleep?"

"No."

Baz cocked an eyebrow curiously; so even Penelope wasn't taking today lightly.

"Could you tell her I'm going for a walk?"

Micah nodded solemnly.

Baz waited for Micah to return to his room before grabbing his peacoat from its hook near the door. He shrugged it on as he pushed halfway through the door, pausing briefly to snatch his navy scarf from its heap on the floor.

 

He trudged down the snowy sidewalk with a heavy heart. It had been _months_ since Simon died, yet Baz still felt the sharp knife of his death like it was yesterday. He was tired of waking up to a world where Simon Snow was just a memory.

"Are you all right, sir?" A voice yanked Baz out of his stupor, and he realized he had stopped in the middle of the sidewalk.

"Not in the slightest," he grumbled, shoving passed the woman.

"Have a Merry Christmas," she called after him. "I hope things start looking up!"

 

Baz found himself standing in a desolate Hyde Park, trembling hands shoved in his coat pockets. All he could think about were all the times he had come here with Simon; all the soft whispers and gentle kisses they'd exchanged still prominent in his mind.

"I wish I could say it still doesn't hurt, Simon," Baz murmured. "But it does, and I think it will forever." He drug a hand down his face and let out a shaky breath. "I'm so sorry, Simon. I feel like I'm letting you down by not being able to move forward."

I want to blame you, honestly I do. I want to blame you for leaving me; I want to be angry with you, but I can't. It's not your fault." Tears streamed down Baz's frozen cheeks. "It's not your fault, Simon." 

Baz sighed in relief as the apartment door clicked shut behind him, successfully blocking any more cold air from rushing in. He stomped the snow from his boots before sliding them off and abandoning them by the door.

Penelope and Micah were curled together on the couch, eyes fixated on the TV. Baz coughed softly, earning him a startled look from Penelope.

"Hey, Baz," she greeted. "Merry Christmas."

Baz gave an aloof shrug of his shoulders in response before plopping down at the end of the couch.

"How are you feeling?" Micah asked.

"Awful," he replied flatly. Baz heard Penelope let out an irritated sigh. "Come off it, Bunce. You already know I'm a fucking train wreck; don't act like I'm supposed to be perfectly fine."

He could practically feel the heat of Penelope's burning rage. "I didn't even say anything."

Baz rolled his eyes incredulously. "You didn't have to."

"It's just," Penelope paused, bringing up her hand to rub at her temple. "Today is Christmas."

"Wow, you can use a calendar," he sneered, earning a glare from both Micha and Penelope. Micah normally tried to stay out of their arguments, but he never missed a chance to slide in a dirty look when Baz's tone grew too hostile.

Penelope huffed out another sigh and tried again. "It's Christmas, Baz, and–"

" _So_?" he hissed, cutting her words short. "Does that make me obligated to be happy?" Baz glared at Penelope scrutinisingly and scoffed. "You want me to be cheerful, don't you? Carry on as if the man I love isn't lying dead six feet under; carry on as if this isn't my first Christmas without Simon since we met. I'm not him, Penelope. I can't just carry on."

Baz didn't know when he'd gotten to his feet to face Micah and Penelope, who both wore twinning expressions of bitter remorse. His chest heaved with short bursts of breath and Baz realized he was just screaming. He clamped his jaw shut and flickered his gaze between Penelope and Micah before spinning on his heel and marching off to his room.

Baz slumped into bed and gazed wearily at the ceiling. "Simon," he breathed. "I wish you took me with you instead of leaving me here broken." Baz rolled onto his side, reaching a gentle hand out to trail along the mattress where Simon used to sleep. It was too easy to imagine his mess of golden curls crushed against the pillow, his lips slightly parted as he slept; the image was burned into Baz's memory perfectly.

"I wish I could say everything's been fine and that I'm doing something with my life..." He paused and squeezed his eyes shut. "But I'm not. These last months have been nothing but me being an embarrassing mess. Penelope and Micah work their asses off while I mope around feeling sorry for myself." Baz dragged a hand down his face, almost feeling stupid for talking to someone who couldn't listen. "I want so bad to lie by your side again, but I can't. I can't, and it fucking hurts."

Baz's eyes fluttered open and he felt a tear roll down his face. "I know you don't want me to waste my life grieving, but I can't move on yet, Simon. I'm weak without you, and I'm sorry." He sighed shakily. "I'm going to get better, though."

Baz let his eyes drift closed again. "Merry Christmas, Simon."


	7. Chapter 7

_ February 2014 _

Simon glanced up from the two cups of coffee in his hands when the store's bell chimed. He smiled warmly at Baz as he made his way across the shop to slide into the seat across from him.

"Hello, Baz," Simon said brightly, sliding him a coffee. "It's black; your favorite."

"Thanks, love." Baz took a long sip of the steaming, bitter, albeit delicious, drink. "It's cold as hell today."

"Which is why I'm extremely happy you came to keep my hands warm for the walk home," Simon said sheepishly. "I forgot my gloves."

" _Again_?" he asked incredulously.

"Again."

"Crowley, Snow. You're going to catch your death out there."

Simon replied with an aloof shrug and took a drink of coffee, relishing the sweet taste of vanilla. "Are you ready to head home?" he asked, arching an eyebrow.

"It's not going to get any warmer out there, so we might as well," Baz replied, rising to his feet.

He took his coffee in one hand and Simon's hand in the other and wove around the throng of customers filing into the shop before pushing out the door; bitter air enveloped them. Baz felt Simon's hand tighten around his and he chuckled softly.

"Do you even know where your gloves are?"

Simon's cheeks were flushed a light pink, but Baz was unsure whether it was caused by the cold or his embarrassment. "No," he admitted. "I haven't seen them since they were given to me."

"You're lucky I love you," Baz said flatly before leaning in to peck Simon on the cheek.

"PDA, Baz," Simon remarked, grinning.

"Come off it, Snow, I know you don't give a shit about showing affection publicly," Baz muttered and shoved Simon's shoulder playfully with his own.

He didn't miss Simon's wince.

The two ducked into the apartment building's lobby, finding immediate relief in the heated space.

"I know we just had coffee, but I'm making us some hot tea as soon as we get to our apartment," Baz griped when he and Simon began the first ascent of stairs. "I can't feel my hands, and I had gloves."

He glanced at Simon, whose face was red from the cold.

"I'm freezing," Simon added, face turned in a pout.

"We need to find your gloves," Baz mumbled.

They continued about halfway to their apartment until Simon pulled his hand from Baz's to lean heavily against the wall. His face was contorted into a mask of pain and he held himself stiffly.

"Simon, what's wrong?" Baz asked gently.

"Nothing, just sore from standing all day; that's all," he replied through gritted teeth. "Just let me rest a minute."

Baz watched Simon with soft eyes; he was beyond worried. They had made the climb an uncountable amount of times after Simon had worked and never had he complained about being sore afterwards.

He counted five minutes before Simon took his hand again and they continued their way to the apartment. As soon as the door shut behind him, Simon shuffled his way to the couch and flopped down, eyes closing instantly. Baz pressed a kiss into Simon's curls before pulling a fleece throw over him.

Maybe Simon just needed some rest.

_ January 2016 _

Baz found himself standing in front of the painting he and Simon discussed on their first date; the one with snow covered mountains. He had the entirety of the painting committed to memory, yet he still forced himself to visit it in person. Its secret was still undiscovered and he made it a short term goal to unravel the artist's motive for painting it. Normally such a task could be done flawlessly, as he was adept with interpreting hidden meanings, but this one stumped him. He briefly considered what Simon said; maybe the artist did just fancy landscape? Baz shuffled back a bit and cocked his head, trying to get a different angle. Then he saw it.

Painted among the clouds in a slightly lighter shade of grey, there was an angel. Arms and wings spread out, flowing hair and dress. It was so covertly painted that Baz was surprised he spotted it.

"Why paint an angel looking at mountains?" he mumbled under his breath. "And why hide it?"

_ February 2014 _

**He's been sleeping for five hours, Penelope.**

Baz's eyes slid from his phone to Simon, who had been fast asleep on the couch since they had gotten home.

**Don't worry about it, Baz.**

**How can I not worry?**

Baz let out a sigh and stuffed his phone into his pocket before rising to his feet and wandering over to the couch. He leaned over Simon and pressed a soft kiss to his forehead, causing him to stir.

"Simon," Baz murmured, smoothing the curls from his face.

Simon looked at Baz with half lidded eyes and yawned. "I just wanted to take a nap," he mumbled groggily.

"You've been sleeping for five hours, Simon," Baz said pointedly.

He rubbed at his eyes and sat up with a grimace. "Really? Work drained me today."

Baz frowned; something was definitely wrong. "Did you do anything extra?"

"No," Simon replied before letting his eyes drift shut again.

Baz stood away from the couch, taking that as a conversation closer. He fished his phone out and saw he had a message from Penelope.

**He could just have the flu.** **Like I said, don't worry. Give him a few days to rest.**

Maybe he should just take her advice; Simon was exposed to plenty of people, it was plausible that he had caught something from a customer. Baz sighed, he needed to stop worrying so much.

**You're right. But if he doesn't feel better by the end of the week I'm hauling his ass to the doctor.**

_ January 2016 _

"How was the art gallery?" Penelope asked over a steaming mug of what Baz assumed was tea.

"It was fine," he said flatly. "I found something in the painting."

"The unreadable one?" Penelope asked, arching an eyebrow.

Baz nodded. "An angel."

Penelope mulled over Baz's report and took a long drink of tea. "That could potentially be the key to figuring the artist out."

"Maybe," Baz sighed. "But I'm not sure I want to figure the artist out anymore." He pressed his lips into a firm line. "In this case, I think the artist just wants viewers to interpret their own meaning from the painting."

"For someone who's not that into art, you're great at figuring out artists' motives," Penelope mused.

Baz shrugged. "I'm a writer; writers are excellent at analyzing."

Penelope absentmindedly traced her finger along the rim of the mug of tea. "Duly noted. Continue."

"The angel," Baz said plainly. "The way I see it, it's just–" he paused, fruitlessly trying to grasp for the right word. "It's a symbol, if you will. As I said, the artist wants the viewers to interpret the painting however they please. Well I see the angel as a symbol for lost loved ones." Baz shrugged his shoulders. "It sounds incredibly stupid."

"No it doesn't," Penelope assured. She could tell Baz was having a difficult time putting his feelings into words, and frankly she was just glad he wasn't crying. "Why exactly _do_ you see it as a symbol for lost loved ones?"

"Because the first thing I thought of when I saw it was Simon." 

_ February 2014 _

**It's the end of the week, Bunce.**

Baz ran a shaky hand through his hair, attention shifting to Simon, who was fast asleep in bed. His arm was draped over his face in an effort to block out the onslaught of sunlight seeping into their bedroom.

**And?**

**And he looks like shit.**

**I'm on my way over.**

Baz pressed a kiss into Simon's curls before strolling out of the room, closing the door softly behind him. He ran a hand down his face and slumped onto the couch. The whole week had consisted mainly of Simon sleeping and Baz anxiously watching over him. Penelope had visited once to bring Simon some cherry scones, which still were sitting uneaten in the pantry. Baz worried his lip between his teeth nervously, mind roaming off in a million directions.

Baz's phone buzzed in his pocket.

**Let me in, Basil.**

An irritated sigh fell passed Baz's lips and he climbed off the couch, briskly walking to the door and throwing it open.

"Bunce," Baz remarked dully.

"Pitch."

"You could've let yourself in," he mumbled.

"It was locked," Penelope said matter-of-factly before slipping into the apartment.

"So remind me again why you decided to drop everything and run over here."

"I'm here to check on Simon," she scoffed, as if her motive was obvious. "Where is he?"

"Sleeping."

Baz slipped into the bedroom and stepped up to their bed, looking at Simon with soft eyes. He leant down close to Simon's ear. "Love, Penelope is here to see you," he cooed.

Simon let out a low moan and turned onto his side. The sleeve of his teeshirt had rolled up, revealing a nasty looking bruise on Simon's shoulder. Curiosity piqued, Baz reached out and gently ran his fingers down the length of the bruise. What the hell had happened to cause something like that?

Baz felt panic building up deep in his chest. "Simon," he said firmly, this time eliciting an irritated grunt from his boyfriend. "Please get up."

Simon blinked, gazing up at Baz with bleary eyes. "What?"

"Penelope is here," Baz repeated.

Simon's eyes drifted closed and Baz feared he'd have to wake him up again. "Simon."

"I'm working on it, Baz," he muttered, tossing the duvet off of him.

Finally, Baz coaxed Simon into the living room where Penelope wasted no time with her examination.

As Penelope looked over Simon, Baz realized that things about his physique had changed. Simon's skin had a worrying pallor and dark circles hung under his glassy blue eyes.

"I'm still convinced it could be the flu," Penelope mused aloud. "How are you feeling, Simon?"

"Tired," Simon replied shortly. "And sore."

"I'm taking you to the doctor," Baz dictated. "Right now."

"No."

"Simon," Penelope started. "Baz is right."  

"If Bunce says I'm right, you know I'm right."

Simon's eyes flickered between the two and he let out a small sigh of defeat. "Fine."


	8. Chapter 8

_ February 2014 _

"Hello?"

Baz's eyes fluttered open at the sound of Simon's voice. Simon was sitting at the foot of the bed, rumpled from sleep and his phone pressed to his ear.

"And?" Simon asked, running a hand through his curls. "Oh. Yeah, I can come in today." Baz's heart sank when Simon's shoulders slumped defeatedly. "I have someone to come with me."

Simon let out a shaky sigh and ended the call.

"Who was that, love?" Baz asked, sitting up.

"Doctor Wellbelove," Simon replied in a small voice. "He wants to tell me the results in person today. Said to bring someone in with me."

"That doesn't sound good," Baz murmured.

"I know."

\---

Two hours later found Simon and Baz in a waiting room, fingers laced together as they waited for the doctor. Baz was finding it hard to keep himself calm; anything that required an in-person talk with the doctor (and accompanied by someone) was bad news.

"Afternoon, gentlemen," Doctor Wellbelove beamed when he slid into the room.

Neither Baz or Simon returned his greeting.

"I'm afraid I've got some bad news." The doctor's slate grey eyes flickered from Simon to Baz.

Baz steeled himself.

"Initially, I believed that you had the flu," he continued, addressing Simon. "However, the results read negative, which is why I was forced to perform a multitude of tests; I apologize for the length of your wait, but it was necessary to get accurate readings."

Wellbelove took a deep breath before continuing. "As I was saying, I did multiple tests, and the results from the blood test were curious. It appears that you have an alarming amount of white blood cells and too few red blood cells and platelets."

His expression suddenly turned grim. "But it was the bone marrow test that confirmed my worst fears..." Doctor Wellbelove trailed off and mentally prepared himself to deliver the news. "I'm very sorry, Simon; you tested positive for acute lymphoblastic leukemia."

Baz felt like the world around him had shattered. "I thought that was a children's cancer," he said softly.

"It's exceptionally rare for someone of Simon's age to develop it; however, not impossible," Doctor Wellbelove explained. "But it's also relatively easy to cure, so your chances of survival are extremely high."

Baz tightened his grip on Simon's hand.

"Treatment lasts roughly around two years. I've already taken the liberty of scheduling your first chemotherapy session in a few weeks."

Simon was being told all of this information too quickly; he didn't know if he should be terrified of the fact he had cancer or relieved it wouldn't be terminal.

"If either of you have any questions, don't hesitate to call."

The only question Baz had was one the doctor wouldn't be able to answer: _why Simon?_  
  


_ April 2016 _

Golden hair and blue eyes and constellations of freckles against tan skin, so fictitious now it hurt. Sometimes Baz doubted that Simon had ever lived; it was impossible for someone so radiant to be gone so easily.

Baz shifted under the duvet and propped himself up on his elbow, trying to remember what it felt like to wake up beside Simon. Lips parted, hair a mess against the pillow, tangled limbs, soft breathing. _So alive._

 

_ February 2014 _

The pair sat in the coffee shop, surrounded by the scent of caramel and pastries and the bitter tang of strong coffee. Baz shifted in his seat anxiously as they waited for Penelope to arrive. Simon sat next next to him, a bit too still for Baz's liking, and stared blankly at the mug in front of him. Ever since they'd left the office, Simon had said precious little to Baz about anything. It had been Baz's idea to even tell Penny about the news.

The world outside moved in slow motion, as if the entire earth had decided to rotate just a bit slower that day, like everyone just decided to talk a bit less, and the light shone just a bit dimmer. Baz bumped Simon's shoulder, trying to get his attention but failing. He continued to repeat this until finally Simon gazed up with tired eyes to look at Baz and at that moment, the reality of all that had just happened sunk in. Simon was dying. Or potentially so. Either way, the life of the person he loved and cared most about in the whole universe was being put in danger.

This was the distinct moment that Baz's world caved in on itself. One moment will happen in every person's life that is so significant that they are forever changed in a way that can't even be described. This was Baz's. From that moment on a little bit of himself sunk into the blue abyss that was Simon's lifeless eyes. A bit that he would never get back, a bit that Simon took from him. And Baz realized that he no longer had anything to say, because no words that he could utter would take away the deep pain that resonated within Simon Snow at this moment. And all Baz could do was wrap his shaky arm around Simon's gaunt shoulders and attempt to choke back the tears of despair threatening to spill onto his cheeks.

Penelope entered the shop, looking around in a rather frazzled manner to find the two of them huddled in a corner both at the back of the room. As she rushed over, neither of them bothered to move from their position. She slid into the seat across from them, too distracted to remove her coat or gloves. "What did the doctor say?"

A certain silence fell over the table and maybe the whole room. Simon and Baz looked at her with two sets of different eyes that held the same soul eating sadness. This only increased Penelope's discomfort. "What did the doctor say?" she demanded a second time.

Baz opened his mouth to speak and was forced to clamp it shut again. No words would come right now.

Simon inhaled deeply before saying, "They said it was..." He drew in a shaky breath, "They said they thought it was the flu... But it's not. I-I don't... It's cancer, Penny."

The life drained from Penelope's face. That was the only way to describe her reaction. She didn't move or speak, she only stared. "You have cancer?" Penelope choked out. Something snapped inside her. All of the hairline fractures spreading across her emotional dam had burst, and she began sobbing.

"Don't worry, Penny," Simon started gently, "it's going to be really easy to cure." He mustered a smile, although it was closer to a grimace. "Please don't worry about me too much. I can't die; my bucket list hasn't been finished." Only Simon Snow would attempt to lighten the grimmest of moods with a stupid joke.

"Simon, please don't try to make us brush this off like it's no big deal!" Penelope hissed loudly, drawing the attention of several nearby customers. "I'm going to worry because you're my friend; I'm going to worry because cancer is fucking scary; I'm going to worry because doctors can screw up! I can't just not worry about something like this, Simon. It's like asking me to stop breathing."

Simon immediately reverted back to his prior silent state, and Baz hugged him closer. "Simon's just worried about us, Penelope," Baz said firmly. "He'd rather we carry on than worry ourselves to death."

Penelope's eyes shifted to Simon, whose face was buried in Baz's shoulder, and she let out a shaky sigh. "I know."  
  


_ April 2016 _

It still smelled like him. Something sweet and brown.

Baz clung to the cable-knit, navy blue sweater like it was his lifeline, nose pressed into the fabric that was imprinted with Simon's scent. He smiled brokenly at the memory of how well the sweater matched Simon's eyes; Baz would've given anything to see them again. Full of life and bluer than the sky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would like to apologize for how long it took to update (and how terrible it is), both of us have been extremely busy with work and school. I would also like to apologize for anything I got incorrect regarding cancer, I tried my best to find credible sources of information.


End file.
